


The Devil Wears Scrubs

by Medie



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-09
Updated: 2010-02-09
Packaged: 2017-10-07 03:40:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medie/pseuds/Medie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Who's that?" Ferguson asks when Sara sweeps out of his room/Cameron grins. "The devil herself."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Devil Wears Scrubs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [angelsgracie](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=angelsgracie).



> Written for [](http://angelsgracie.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**angelsgracie**](http://angelsgracie.dreamwidth.org/) for her birthday. I panicked, not sure what to write, and this sort of came to me. Hope you like it!

It's a little known fact. To be a doctor in the SGC there are three very definite requirements. (Technically, there are a host of requirements, but only three well and truly count)

1\. Outstanding medical ability that verges on the miraculous is a _must_. In this business, there are no half measures. Raising the dead is quite literally a part of the job description. Especially if patients by the name of Jackson are involved.

2\. A disposition which verges on the tyrannical is quite well necessary. One may be required to face down self-professed deities. Occasionally the jabbing of needles into the posteriors of cranky generals is also expected. Neither of these can be negotiated. Scaring them is a must.

And the most important of all.

3\. She must be tiny. VERY tiny. Also mean. See aforementioned tyrannical disposition. The Goa'uld must quake with fear when faced with her tiny, needle-wielding ass.

No one (meaning the General, of course) warns Cameron Mitchell about this. So, when he accepts O'Neill's offer, and responsibility for his care immediately transfers to the SGC, he's quite unprepared for the pint-sized brunette who turns up in his room.

"Morning, cupcake," she says. She's sitting on the end of his bed, a stethoscope around her neck, a twizzle stick hanging out of her mouth, and his chart on her lap. "Sleep well?"

"M'drugged to the damn gills," Cameron slurs, still half asleep, "how do you think I slept?"

She grins. "Suck ass." Flipping his chart shut, she pitches the twizzle stick and gets off the bed. She produces a penlight from her white coat, bending over to flash it in his eyes.

Well, _that_ doesn't wake him up or anything.

"HEY!" he protests, batting at her hand. "Watch it with that thing."

"I am," she says, bemused. "You think we flash this thing for shits and giggles?"

"Yep," Cameron nods. "Now, before you poke anything anywhere else, how about you give me your name?"

She tucks the penlight away. "Didn't General O'Neill -- " She stops. "No, of course not, he wouldn't. That would ruin his fun." Circling around the bed, she pulls his blanket off his legs. "I'm Sara Black. I'm the doctor in charge of your case."

Producing a patch from another of her pockets, she waves it in front of him.

Stargate Command.

"You're from -- "

"Uh huh," she nods. "I am."

"Air Force?"

"Nah uh, civilian." Sara gestures to her pants and shirt. "Technically, though, I'm attached to the Canadian Armed Forces. Combat surgeon." She waves a hand. "Spent some time in Kandahar."

He pales. "Oh god, you're _that_ Sara."

He knows her. Well, sort of, he knows the legend. Some doctors a guy prays he never has to meet. This lady's at the top of that list. "You were the one -- "

She beams cheerfully at him, pushing a dark hair out of her face. "I'm the doctor that always took the assholes."

Which is putting it mildly. He's heard the stories about her. If she's _that_ Dr. Black than she's scared more soldiers back into line than every drill sergeant the Marine Corps ever produced.

"What'd I do to deserve _you_?" he asks.

She grins. "You decided you wanted to be on SG1." Picking up his chart, Sara pats her pockets down, looking for a pen. "From what I hear, you're pretty damned determined on your own. Should make my job easy."

"Fuck yeah," he says. It's _SG1_. "No way I'm passing that up." It's his dream job. There's no fucking away he's letting that slide. "Do your worst, Doc. Whatever it takes as long as I'm fit to do the job."

"Oh, you will be," she says. "You'll hate the sight of me, but you'll be fit to do the job."

Dr. Black drops his chart back into its slot. "We start tomorrow."

-

She's right. By the time they really get rolling he _absolutely_ can't stand the sight of her. The woman is a fucking _monster_. A fucking _perky_ monster.

-

Physio's done for the day. He flops down into his bed, every muscle and bone in his body screaming for someone's head. He's got just one someone in mind. Seriously.

That someone waltzes through the door right on cue, a cup of coffee in her hand.

"Please, for the love of God," he says, "tell me that's for me."

"Hell no," she says. "It's Tim's. Rule number one with me, Mitchell. I'll share a lot of things. My Timmy's isn't one of them."

Cameron turns his head, looking at her. "Ti--" he squints. "You mean that stuff the Canucks were always blowing their wads over?"

Sara drops into a chair next to his bed. She crosses her legs and sits back with her cup. "Mmhmm, the one and the same. I brought a tin with me." She grins. "And you can't have any. I saw your times."

He scowls. "I'm _tired_, Sara. Been busting my ass for months."

"Ahh, that's what you call that?" she looks unimpressed. "Funny. I'm still waiting for you to start trying."

Cameron's too damn tired to sputter. He turns his face into his pillow and mutters something his Mama definitely wouldn't approve of. (Hell, Mama thinks Sara's made of the stuff same stuff as angels and power ballads, so, y'know, judgment compromised right there)

"Oh, honey, if you're too damn tired to run, then you're definitely too damn tired to fuck me." Sara leans forward, waving the mug in his direction. "Trust me, Shaft, there's no half measures with me." She grins. "Also, really good ears."

He thinks something _real_ uncharitable, but, Sara's ears considered, doesn't dare say it. Somewhere, there's a hypodermic in that woman's pocket and it's just _dying_ to make acquaintance with his ass.

"Tell me somethin', Sara," he says, looking at her. "What circle of hell did O'Neill haul you out of?"

Sara laughs. "He didn't. A very fantastic lady hired me." A shadow passes over her face and he doesn't need to ask what happened to said lady. He's seen that look more than once in his line of work. "She thought I'd fit in perfectly at Stargate Command and, since I have certain clearances, I could handle the work." She beams at him. "Plus, I scare the fuck out of large burly men. It's a talent that comes in _handy_."

She gets up, slapping him on the ass as she goes by. "Double your times tomorrow and we'll see about that coffee."

He watches her go. "And the fucking?" It's crude, but it's Sara. He knows he calls it anything else and she'll be giving him hell until he's dust and bone in his grave.

"Well, that," she waves a hand. "Let's get you on SG1 first." She smiles at him. It's the first real smile he's seen from her. Not a smirk. Not a grin. Just an honest little smile. "If you still need the reward, we'll talk."

-

He's not surprised when she takes Ferguson's case.

-

"Who's that?" Ferguson asks when Sara sweeps out of his room.

Cameron grins. "The devil herself."

-

He follows her out of the room. "Thought there wasn't anything we could do."

"Here? No." Sara pulls him closer, lowering her voice. "I've got some friends in the Tok'ra. If we can get one of them on hand for the surgery -- "

"Their fancy healing device could stop any bleeding before it starts?" he finishes, uncertain.

Sara beams, patting his cheek. "Exactly. I'm not making any promises, Cam, but this could work."

Letting out a whoop, Cameron lifts her up and swings her around. Sara grabs onto his shoulders, protesting the whole thing with some pretty creative language.

When he finally lets her slide back down his body, she glares up at him. "What the fuck was that?"

He grins. "Me being nice. I know, you're not so good with it, but try it. It'll be a new experience. All you've got to do is say thank you and smile."

She punches him. "Jerk."

It's progress.

"I hate you too," he says and kisses her. When he pulls back, he tweaks her nose and adds, "We never did have that talk."

She blinks, a little fuzzy, and nods. "We didn't."

"Think, once this is all said and done, we should probably get on that."

Sara turns around. "Uh huh, I think I'm gonna go start the paperwork on Ferguson's transfer now."

"You do that," Cameron says. "I'm gonna go break the news."

"Okay," she says, leaving.

Cameron watches her go then heads back into Ferguson's room.

He may, or may not, be whistling.

"I even want to know what that's about?" Ferguson asks, looking up from his 'so you're dying, now what?' pamphlet.

Flopping on the other bed, Cameron puts his hands behind his head. "Devil just came looking for my soul." He looks over. "I swapped for yours instead."

Ferguson throws the pamphlet at him. "Asshole."

"Yup," Cameron says. "And trust me, you're gonna thank me for it. Might wanna start packing, Ferg. Things are about to get fun."

"Oh yeah? How fun?"

Cameron snickers. "Oh, _tons_." Rolling onto his side, he looks at Ferguson. "Just remember, man, I saw her first."

A thought occurs to him and he grins. "However, there is this lady by the name of Carolyn -- "

Sara is going to _kill_ him for this, but what a way to go right?


End file.
